


Four Ways of Saying Goodbye

by Pie (potteresque_ire)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts Era, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-28
Updated: 2008-11-28
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potteresque_ire/pseuds/Pie
Summary: Draco was about to leave Britain. He gave Harry four days to say his goodbye.





	Four Ways of Saying Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008, for Pushdragon's drabblefest.

**_Goodbye ~ from Late Middle English Godbwye/God.B.W.ye, from the Middle English phrase "God be with ye"_**  
  
“I’m leaving, Potter. In four days.”  
  
Potter’ eyes flew open, then squinted at the morning sun. Summer was fast approaching.  
  
“Off to where?” He asked.  
  
“Somewhere. Anywhere I can start afresh.”  
  
“You didn’t tell anyone.”  
  
“I just told you.”  
  
Potter stared.  
  
“This is the … fifth time we talked?”  
  
At sunrise. On the first day of their seventh year, Potter had come to lie down by the northern end of this cove; Draco, the southern end. Both had kept the habit ever since, and inexplicably, they’d inched a breath’s distance closer everyday. Only in the past month had they come to talking distance between one another.  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
“This is why, Potter. I’m giving you four days to say whatever you want to say to me.”  
  
“Um.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Goodbye?”  
  
Draco stood up with a start.  
  
“ _God_  didn’t defeat the Dark Lord, did he. And he isn’t the moron who sits here and freezes with me every morning.”  
  
Potter only stared harder.  


 

* * *

  
  
**_Farewell ~ fare (imper.) + well. c.1374, from Middle English faren wel_**  
  
Potter initiated their conversation the next day; he rolled to his side to face Draco, bringing them just another metre closer than they had been.  
  
So, Draco thought, this was how … it’d happened.  
  
“Farewell?” Potter asked without preamble.  
  
Draco kept his eyes closed, because if eyes could shoot daggers, Potter would become the Swiss Cheese who Lived.  
  
“I’m going on an exile, Potter. Not exactly a vacation.”  


 

* * *

  
  
**_Ta-ta ~ Probably derived from baby talk c.1823_**  
  
The morning after came with a storm. Heavy rain pelted against the lake, loud as the shattering of beads on a wooden floor.  
  
Two fools sat on the wet sand, shielded from the rain by an Impervius charm.  
  
The greater fool, the one with black hair that would have looked just as bad without the charm, tried to say something to the lesser fool.  
  
“Ta-ta,” he might have said.  
  
The lesser fool, unsure of what he had heard, leaned forward and repeated it. “Ta-ta?”  
  
The greater fool nodded. The lesser fool noted, with trepidation, that he had just repeated the stupidest thing that had ever been said.  
  
This was why he was the lesser fool, but a fool nonetheless.  


 

* * *

  
  
**_So long ~ … 'so long' is formed by folk etymology from 'Salaam', an Arabic greeting related to the Hebrew 'Shalom' meaning 'peace'_**  
  
One more day.  
  
Draco observed the nervous wreck beside him, who for the past hour was busy chewing his nails, tying and untying his shoelaces, and – god forbid – trying to smooth out his hair.  
  
Maybe it was a wise decision to leave. If this were the best Saviour this world could find –  
  
There was no hope, no reason to stay.  
  
“I’m going back. Time for breakfast.” Draco announced as he stood.  
  
Potter looked up. “I …,” he began, only to swallow his words and say, instead, “so long.”  
  
Draco took him by his collar, thus eradicating that final bit of distance between them, and punched his nose.  


 

* * *

  
  
**_Auf Wiedersehen ~ German ‘To See You Again’_**  
  
With his luggages shrunk and loaded in his pocket, Draco came here to say goodbye.  
  
To the Black Lake.  
  
He definitely didn’t come to see Potter. That Potter was running towards him was a mere coincidence.  
  
Potter stopped, then bent to catch his breath. He looked ghastly, dressed in yesterday’s clothes. His nose was also swollen from the day before – why didn’t he try to fix it? It was unsightly.  
  
“Your still have your black eyes,” Potter stated, panting.  
  
Draco didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say.  
  
“And,” Potter continued, “a …” his mouth went agape, and froze.  
  
_Is there something worse than_ Ta?  
  
Potter stuck his hand in his jean packet, fished out a crumbled piece of parchment and handed it to Draco.  
  
“I don’t know how to pronounce it,” he said.  
  
Draco smoothed out the paper in his hand. A simple word was written on it.  _Auf Wiedersehen_.  
  
“I see,” Draco whispered. “A threat.”  
  
The corners of Potter’s mouth lifted. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were mirroring his own.  
  
“A promise.”

 

  
_~ Fin_

 

 


End file.
